


The first thing I see is you

by raspberrylimonade



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, lots of kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 21:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11586990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberrylimonade/pseuds/raspberrylimonade
Summary: Five times Lydia wakes up in bed with Stiles, and one time she doesn't.





	The first thing I see is you

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Farewell Teen Wolf](raspberrylimonade.tumblr.com/tagged/farewelltw) challenge on tumblr.

She wakes with her hands grasping his shirt.

It takes her a moment to shake the sleep off and ascertain that getting Stiles back was real this time and not a dream.

And he is, real and alive before her. Tilting her head, Lydia sees he is still sleeping soundly. His mouth hangs open but without drool, his head thrown back into his pillow. One arm holds his quilt against his chest; the other is wound around Lydia’s figure, casually pulling her into his side.

Lydia takes this opportunity to study his sleeping form. He has seen her asleep before, having roused her countless times for fruitless ghost-hunts or whatnot, but she has hardly ever seen him like this – peaceful and relaxed in his own bed.

From what he told her, he didn’t get any shuteye in the ghost realm, although he didn’t do much either.

Regardless, he needs rest. They all do. So Lydia snuggles back into Stiles. She is all wrapped up in him, from his arm around her waist to that jersey of his she is wearing to his plaid covers pulled over them.

Stiles is home, and so is she.

* * *

Her body feels weightless, her skin feels soft. She feels like she is floating. She imagines this must be what it’s like to lay on a cloud.

Then she slowly opens her eyes and takes in the details that show she is not actually on a cloud.

One, the off-white walls of her room, illuminated by the sunlight filtering through her gauzy blinds,

Two, her sheets, wrapped loosely around her, and

Three, her boyfriend, gorgeous and naked next to her.

She leans back from where she has been curled up and pressed into him, admiring his bare shoulders, taking in their breadth. Her gaze trails past his collarbone and up his neck to find him gazing back at her through bleary eyes. She finds her lips pulling up slightly into a lazy smile, mirroring the one he is giving her.

This is them, smiling at each other because they’ve both been caught admiring each other, and can’t tell who woke up and started staring first. They both know they like to stare at each other in the mornings in bed, though they don’t always wake around the same time.

Lydia moves first, pitching forward to tuck her head under Stiles’ neck. Stiles accommodates silently, rolling backwards so Lydia can lean against him. One arm instinctively winds around her waist, pulling her body closer to his (not that there was much space between them to begin with.)

One of Lydia’s hands finds its way up Stiles’ chest to settle just below his shoulder, near her face. Her cheek rubs gently against his skin as she looks up to face Stiles again.

“What?” he whispers, after she simply looks at him for a long tender moment, voice croaking from sleep.

Her voice too cracks as she speaks, but with honesty instead of morning hoarseness.

Less than 24 hours ago she was dragging herself back to her room on campus, burnt out from finals and extracurricular research. She had not spoken to Stiles in a week, besides the good luck text he sent her when her finals week started. They had been trying to make long distance work, but school and finals had swamped them and reduced their contact to nearly zero.

That was until Stiles showed up at her residence hall. The school term at George Washington began a little earlier than that at MIT, which meant he completed all his assessments earlier than her too. Lydia knew this, but she didn’t expect him to drive all the way to visit her as soon as he was done.

In hindsight, she should have known that was precisely what he would do, followed by taking her out for dinner under the stars, and then kissing her senseless while making sweet love to her back in her room. Lydia had questioned choosing a single room a few times throughout the school year, but she has never been more grateful for the privacy.

Lydia presses a kiss to his collarbone. “I’m just happy to see you again.”

“Me too,” he tells her, sincerity in his eyes. “I missed you.”

“We’re not as good at long distance as we thought,” she murmurs into his skin.

“We’ll be better next time.” He says it like a resolution.

* * *

She is jostled awake by something – no, someone – moving beneath her.

Lydia groans and makes to push herself up when two hands find her shoulders and ease her back down.

“It’s okay. Did I wake you? It’s okay, you can go back to sleep.” She hears Stiles’ soft voice, and squints in the bright daylight to see him hovering over her.

“Where are you going?” she asks him. Her voice is rough. She just screamed her lungs out in the wee hours of the morning because the supernatural just cannot seem to leave Beacon Hills alone.

Like, seriously, Stiles found a werewolf pack and a small wendingo family both living along the Chesapeake who don’t bother each other.

This time, some young aspiring druid tried to harness power from the Nemeton and only ended up driving himself crazy. Fortunately, most of the pack was back for winter break, and they eventually subdued the guy. Unfortunately, they only caught him after he set off a minor earthquake that not only rattled the town but also aversely affected the werecreatures in the county. It was like the Motel Glen Capri all over again, but less emotional and more violent.

Stiles shakes a leg. “I’m gonna check on it. I think the dressing is coming off. I’ll just be in the bathroom.” He motions to the ensuite of Lydia’s old bedroom with his chin.

It had taken Stiles, Lydia and a recovered Brett to drag an angry Liam out of the Devenford parking lot while fending off another of Satomi’ betas and the wannabe druid himself, similarly affected by his failed attempt at magic. Lydia was lucky to get away with a sore throat and some superficial scratches, but Stiles had been directly involved in a four-way scuffle. He now had gouges on his thigh from someone’s claws.

He shifts on the bed and winces. One hand leaves Lydia’s shoulder to massage his own. Lydia finds herself sitting up, suddenly alert.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah...no,” Stiles replies. “I think I pulled something around here too.”

He is prodding the area around his left shoulder with his thumb, but stops when Lydia covers his hand with hers.

“You should lie down,” she says in her raspy voice, making to get up. “I’ll get the kit for you, and some medicated patches.”

He starts to protest. “You don’t have to, I didn’t mean to wake you up in the first place - ”

Lydia rises to kiss his jawline, gently pushing him down onto the bed as she does so. She climbs over him and out of her old bed.

“Stiles,” she says to him, “please shut up and let me take care of you.”

* * *

There’s something tickling her neck. Lydia brushes it aside with one hand, assuming it’s her hair in her half-awake state. But then the tickling comes back, more persistent than before, moving up and down the back of her neck, getting hotter and hotter and increasing the pressure and _oh_ –

Lydia sighs when she feels the sucking at the base of her neck. She feels the offending lips pull into a smile, and blinks her eyes open.

The first thing she sees is the black faux leather tights on the floor in the corner of the room. She imagines the matching bra has been tossed somewhere nearby, but the breathing over her ear distracts her before she can think too much about it.

“Morning, beautiful.”

Stiles’ voice, deep and rough, sends a pleasant shiver down her spine. Lydia sighs, and then turns her head so she is facing the man himself. She puckers her lips, and he obliges.

“Morning,” she greets when he pulls away. “How are you feeling?”

“Mm, horny,” Stiles answers, rubbing his face against her cheek.

Lydia shifts so she is lying on her back rather than on her side. “I wonder why.”

“Do you now?”

Lydia tilts her head back as Stiles plants hot, open-mouth kisses across her throat. She knows fully well why she’s been woken up in such a manner. It’s because of last night. And last night...well, she planned for it.

She hadn’t exactly planned the night in advance. She was out shopping yesterday while Stiles was in class, where she chanced upon a strapless black bandeau. It made her feel incredibly sexy, and suddenly she couldn’t resist the idea of surprising Stiles with it, so she’d hunted around and found a nice pair of cropped leggings to go with it, and when Stiles returned to their shared apartment that evening she was already lounging on their bed, waiting for him.

She laughs when Stiles starts grinding his hips against hers. “Haven’t had enough last night?” she teases, rolling her hips right back.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he murmurs as his lips trail the line of her jaw.

She intends to give him a snarky reply, but he chooses to hook her leg over his waist then, and a moan leaves her lips instead.

It’s only later when they’re both sated that she manages to form a coherent sentence again.

“Happy anniversary, Stiles,” she says, bringing his hand to her lips.

He squeezes her hand. “Happy anniversary.”

She doesn’t catch the way his thumb brushes the base of her ring finger.

* * *

The hotel bed is quite comfortable. The pillows are fluffy, the covers are soft, and the mattress is firm but springy. Too bad she isn’t in the right mood to enjoy it.

Lydia feels around blindly until she finds a spare pillow and pulls it over her closed eyelids. She thinks she might have suddenly become extra-sensitive to light, because the morning light has never bothered her this much.

She feels rather than hears Stiles shifting on his side of the bed, as the mattress dips than rises with his movements.

“Not feeling any better?” he asks.

She groans in response and pulls the pillow tighter over her eyes.

Somewhere to her left comes the sound of Stiles chuckling.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, as if he knows she’s about to admonish him even though he can barely see her face. “I just thought all those committee members and classy mathematicians are probably thinking you dragged me out of the gala for some sexy time, but you literally just crashed into bed without drinking the tea you very forcefully told me to make you.”

“I forgot about that,” Lydia mumbles.

They were in Stockholm for the International Congress of Mathematicians. The night before, Dr Lydia Martin had become the youngest recipient of the Fields Medal, and was later seen dragging her fiancé out of the ballroom before the ceremony closed.

Not her fault that her banshee powers acted up halfway through the night. They have subsided now, but left her with a pressing headache.

“Anyway,” Stiles continues. “I found the ghost story that explains why your powers were triggered last night. Wanna hear?”

“Not now.” She shakes her head, but the action causes her head to throb. She groans and pulls the pillow aside, then rolls over and onto Stiles. Burying her face in his shirt doesn’t block the light out as effectively, but it does allow her to breathe in his scent, which is comforting. His large hands finds her back, gently rubbing up and down.

She is dozing off again when Stiles’ chest rumbles beneath her.

“Uh, that number theory talk is in two hours. If you think you feel good enough to go for it,” she hears him say.

Lydia hums. The talk is one of her most anticipated events, and she is feeling better than the night before, but she’s not sure how she would fare out of bed and walking about.

Then a thought crosses her mind. She looks up at Stiles, resting her chin on his chest.

“You know,” she begins, “sexual activity has been said to relieve headaches and migraines.”

Stiles lifts an eyebrow at her, knowing where she is going.

“Wanna help me test _that_ theory?”

He grins and flips them over, breathing his answer against her lips.

“Gladly.”

* * *

The room is dark when her eyes open, the only light source being the yellow bulb on the ceiling somewhere to her left.

Her legs feel numb. There’s a soreness that is vaguely everywhere in the lower parts of her body. When she shifts, she realises how stiff her back is.

The small bed creaks as she tries to sit up. It’s already adjusted so she is slightly propped up, so she slowly pushes herself up the incline.

She’s lost count of the number of times she has found herself in beds like this, but this time – this time is _different_.

Once she is happy with her sitting position, Lydia looks around the room and quickly finds what she is looking for.

Sprawled over the couch in the right corner of the ward is none other than her husband.

The small piece of furniture is way too short for his long limbs. The arm that isn’t draped over his chest hangs off the edge of the couch, his hand almost flat on the floor. He has one leg up against the backrest, and the other hangs over the far end of the seat. Lydia smiles at the familiarity of the position.

A nurse enters the room almost as soon as Lydia presses the call bell. Her vitals are checked and she is given a glass of water. All throughout, Stiles doesn’t wake, although the nurse offers to wake him up for Lydia.

Melissa comes in at one point, and when she notices Stiles, simply smiles and shakes her head. “Some things never change,” she says.

Lydia imagines a younger Stiles, not more than eight years old, similarly dozing on other hospital furniture, but in a different wing in the building, and for a different reason. She doesn’t know that Melissa has also seen Stiles, older and taller than in Lydia’s imagination, lying across uncomfortable chairs with a ‘get well soon’ balloon because of a girl he cared for deeply and unquestionably.

When Stiles finally stirs, two hours later, Lydia is too busy cradling the crying baby – their baby – to notice until he is perched on the bed next to her, gently cooing along with her.

He kisses her head when little Alyssa finally calms down and wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“I should probably get used to waking up like that,” he murmurs into her hair.

Lydia hums in reply as she leans back into his embrace. In a world like theirs, always shadowed by death, they’ve found life. They’re here. They’ve done it. Everything is going to change.

**Author's Note:**

> The black bra and tights outfit Lydia wears in the fourth part is [_this_](https://twitter.com/stlnskissmartin/status/886619798636863488) (and that's also my twitter.)


End file.
